Drop the White Flag
by Talonwhisker
Summary: When Dean is hurt to get to Castiel, the angel takes matters into his own hands. Multi-chapter Destiel fic, rated T for swearing and violence/gore. Very slightly AU where Cas is still an angel, set after most of season 8.
1. How to Break a Winchester

**Hello guys. This is my very first ever fanfiction I took the time to write out with the sole purpose of sharing it with you guys. I am really nervous about actually posting this, and as it is my first fic, please don't be too hard on me. I'd adore reviews on your thoughts so far! Also, please correct me on any spelling mistakes/grammar mistakes! I don't have a beta or anything, so any mistakes are entirely on me and my program that doesn't have spell check u.u**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, unfortunately.**

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_**Chapter One: How to break a Winchester**_

_Crack! _The sound of knuckles crunching into a jaw reverberated around the rundown abandoned warehouse said happening occurred in. Glaring spitefully, Dean spat another mouthful of blood on to the already bloodied cement floor, his face throbbing. He writhed his hands almost desperately, never wincing as the chains and ropes that held them still chaffed against his already raw and torn flesh. His feet were similarly bound, and a thick chain tied his torso tightly to the pencil-straight back of the metal chair in which he was ensnared.

"Where is the angel?!" The attacker snarled, pacing, her eyes completely black beneath long red ribbons of hair that bobbed slightly as she paced, similar in demeanor to a lioness on the prowl. Dean watched the movement impassively a moment before sneering, spitting on the floor by her feet.

"Bite me," he hissed, his sneer twisting into an angry scowl. The demon stopped, her eyes flashing with anger momentarily, and she raised her hand to strike him across the face yet again.

"Stop," a bored-sounding voice drawled from the shadows that ringed the warehouse. With a snort, the female demon dropped her hand and bared her teeth at Dean in an ugly grimace.

"Obviously," the voice continued from its secluded, shadowy spot with an arrogant tone, "roughing him up just won't work as it should. He's known worse. This is merely...a mosquito bite to an elephant, per say." The owner of the voice slid from the shadows, a thin curved blade in hand. He was tall, perhaps 6 feet, with short-cropped brown hair. His eyes were black, per normal of a demon, but his host looked young, around 25. Possibly Australian, judging by the accent. Twirling the blade slowly and methodically in his fingers, the man stopped in front of Dean and smirked, eyes flashing wickedly.

"No, I think we'll need a bit of..._imagination _to get him to squeal." Gripping the knife tightly in his fingers, the demon slowly slid up to him before bringing the knife down in one swift, clean stroke. Dean closed his eyes, expecting a flash of pain brought upon him by the knife, followed by the gush of blood that was the norm for stab wounds. However, he was surprised to hear a loud rip, followed by the fluttering of fabric against his slick skin. Opening his eyes warily, he looked down, glancing at where the knife had been headed. His shirt had been torn away, leaving him entirely bare-chested. He struggled against his binds again, for lack of a more productive action.

"Now, let's get this show on the road," the man sneered, crouching and bringing the steely cold blade to Dean's stomach. "Now, where is the angel?"

"Screw you," Dean spat through gritted teeth, the corner of his mouth trickling blood slowly as he spoke.

"Suit yourself," the demon mused with a light chuckle before slowly sinking the blade into the flesh of the hunter's stomach. Dean slammed his head back, neck slamming jarringly into the metal of the chair. He stiffened, shifting slightly in a feeble attempt to avoid the knife that had already begun to puncture his skin. He felt blood, warm and slick slide down his stomach and pool at his legs as the steel slowly glided its way through his flesh, leaving behind an ugly, gaping red tear. Dean slumped when finally, mercifully the metal was drawn from his pain-laden torso, but stiffened instantly when a hand gripped his chin tightly and lifted his head so he was eye to eye with the demon.

"Now again, where is the angel?" Dean's only response was a steady glare, his eyes flicking with hatred. Later, it brought shame to Dean to remember that he had, for the slightest moment, considered talking. This entire scene was turning out eerily similar to his expedition to Hell, and he simply wouldn't be able to stand the added Nightmare Fuel. But in the end he clamped his lips tight in a pained grimace and said nothing. Shaking his head, the other man clicked his tongue again his teeth in a series of falsely disappoint clucks.  
"Still not being cooperative, I see," he sighed, wiping the blade on Dean's pants slowly before placing the tip to Dean's chest, dragging it around gently and methodically, just enough to leave thin pink scratches in his flesh.

"Where shall I carve into next?" the demon grinned, his teeth glistening, and Dean flinched slightly, straining against his binds for the umpteenth time. He felt blood run down his wrists again, felt it gather near his now limp fingertips before beading up, rolling off, and hitting the cement with a muffled splatter. The demon stopped the blade at Dean's chest with a murmur of thought, right around the anti-possession tattoo that was permanently inked onto his skin.

"How about we cut here next, hmm?" he said pleasantly before abruptly plunging the blade straight into the hunter's chest, not enough to actually be able to kill him, but deep enough to actually be able to carve out a decent-sized piece. This time Dean couldn't hold back the gargling scream that bubbled to his lips and burst forth with a roar, his eyes rolling slightly in his head as agony oozed from his chest. He felt every flick of the blade as it carved a ring around the tattoo, the crimson blood, hot and sticky, pouring down his chest in large streams before soaking into his pants or dribbling to the ground to mingle with its already fallen comrades. Within a few antagonizing moments it was over, the knife neatly pulled away, but the pain still flared with every thunderous heartbeat.

"Where. Is. The. Angel?" The man asked, his fingers curling around the unused armrests of Dean's chair as he leaned forward, his face inches away from Dean's. The hunter gasped, sputtering slightly as blood welled up in his throat and trickled across his lips and down his chin.

"I have no idea," he groaned, feeling a bead of sweat roll down his temple onto his shoulder. The man sighed, reaching forward with his fingers and digging his abnormally long finger nails into the circular mark. Twisting his fingers slowly, he watched as a shudder ripped down Dean's spine. He grinned as his back arched, laughed as a scream of agony ripped from his lips unhindered.

"I don't know!" he screeched, pained, as the demon removed his fingers, slowly wiping the blood off onto the man's throat.

"Son of a..." Dean hissed, shoulders beginning to shudder violently in agony.

"I don't think I believe you." the demon mused after a moments pondering. He gripped the knife again, looking intently at the anti-possession tattoo.

"And because you have been far less than helpful, I think I've discovered away to dig around inside that head of yours with or without your consent." Without so much as a warning he leaned forward, blade swiveling swiftly in his fingers before slicing neatly under the skin where the anti-possession tattoo resided, quickly carving away the tattoo with only the slightest movement. Dean screamed in agony, seeing spots as the pain flared across his chest, tendrils winding their way up his arms and clenching his stomach. He felt as if he was going to be sick, the taste of iron on his tongue only making it worse. As he dry heaved once or twice, the demon threw the scrap of skin away carelessly. He snapped his fingers briskly, and the female demon stepped forward meekly, looking at the clearly superior demon with an expression of slight disgust.

"I suppose you want me to invade that incompetent meat suit?" she asked with a slight groan of revulsion. The male demon raised a brow, his gaze raking over the other's host slowly before nodding.

"If you will. I promise this host will be ready for you as soon as you return." he said with a silky smile. The woman held her delicate looking hands in front of her face, slowly rotating them. She then placed them over her wonderfully flat stomach and slid them down to her hips and her legs, admiring her host before sighing.

"Lets get this over with," she snarled, and with a movement that likely caused whiplash, the woman threw back her head, and a gush of putrid black smoke flushed out, swirling in the air a moment or two before speeding violently to the now subdued hunter. Black tendrils snaked out, forcing the head up, and the demon pushed her way down his throat. However, no longer had she rushed in did she abruptly pour out, returning to her previous host with a gasp. She stood before collapsing to her knees, a hand over her mouth as her black eyes wavered with sudden exhaustion.

"T-there's some kind of anti-possession _inside_ of him," she breathed, her face twisting into the scowl Dean was so accustomed to seeing on her face. He grinned weakly at her, a small triumph.

"Branded on my ribs, incase you were wondering, you black-eyed son of a bitch," he grunted, eyes flashing with malice. Cas insisted on branding them next to the enochian that had been etched in their chests when Kevin's mother had gotten her own tattoo burned off by the demons.

The demon frowned, the normally cocky expression replaced by anger for a minute before he covered it by the previous calm exterior.

"Well, we'll just have to find other methods. And if, for a moment, I did believe you when you say you don't know, there certainly are other ways to get what we'd like." he motioned with a flourish to the walls of the warehouse that Dean had ignored up until attention had been drawn to them. Looking around, he noticed dozens, if not hundreds of carefully and excruciatingly done sigils painted in various shades around the entire warehouse.

"Anti-angel wards. They let you in, but not out. Sap your powers, render you almost completely useless. I made them myself." the demon gave a smug, proud smile, teeth bared slightly again.

"So, we'll just make you call your friend here, and you're free to go. We only want the angel." Dean thrashed slightly, eyes narrowing in rage. There was no way he'd call Cas here to his death. Did they take him as a coward?

"You have one opportunity to call him here without more...prompting. I'll give you a moment to decide." the demon reached down, roughly yanked the still gasping demon to her feet, and slunk back into the shadows to talk game-plan. Once they were out of earshot, Dean bowed his head, concentrating as insistently as possible with the pain flashing through his mind.

Slowly and quietly, he began a prayer, one of many he had sent to Castiel through the years he'd known him. However, this one was probably one of the most important he'd ever sent, so he put as much force, and much emphasis on it as possible.  
"Cas, man, listen to me right now, and pay attention. Do not come. Do you hear me? Do not come to me, no matter what I say, no matter what you hear, no matter anything. Do you understand me? Don't move your ass one inch from where you are now. Don't unfurl you damn wings one inch. Just, whatever, whatever happens, don't come."


	2. Forbidden Calls

_**A/N:**_**Here's the next chapter! I hope you all like it! I have a question for you few that are following/enjoying this story currently: Would you prefer me to update as soon as I finish writing and proof-reading each chapter (which could mean several chapters in a few days span, depending on my creative mood) or would you prefer it if I kept it to a once a week/possibly twice a week minimum? I'm leaving it up to you guys!**

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of it's character

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_**Chapter 2: Forbidden Calls**_

"Have you decided yet? Will you call him the easy way or the hard way? Because one way or another you will call him," the demon asked silkily as he slipped from the shadows, his companion following him looking considerably less exhausted, her steps no longer stumbling but brisk and purposeful. Dean sneered tiredly, his lips and teeth speckled with blood.

"Screw you," he laughed, wincing slightly at the stretching of the now-bruising skin on his face. The demon sighed, looking slightly disgusted before he waved his hand vaguely at the female. Her eye's brightened with glee and she stepped forward, lifting a hand and punching him square in the jaw near his mouth. Dean felt his lip split and heard something suspiciously like a crack where her knuckles slammed into the bones under his skin.

"Pity. Seems I'll have to get my knife dirty again," the demon pulled the blade from out of a sheath perched on his hip Dean hadn't noticed before while he spoke, running a thumb gently down the sharpened edge, looking with approval at the bead of blood brought forth by the barely-there pressure. He gave his companion a meaningful look, and she grinned enthusiastically, in a dark and twisted sort of way. Stepping behind Dean - carefully positioning herself away from his suddenly tense fingers - she slowly wound her fingers around his throat, right above his adams apple. She slid one hand up so it was right beneath his chin and tightened her grip, pulling back his head with one twitch of her fingers. Then she slid the thumb of her other hand down, pulling his skin painfully tight. She nodded to the man, and he smirked, sliding forward like a cat that had finally cornered his prey.

"Last chance," he crooned, placing the blade feather-light against his completely vulnerable throat. Dean swallowed a bit painfully, eyes flashing with panic momentarily before the emotion was beat down, replaced by a seething hatred that almost made the demon flinch. Almost.

"Your loss," the demon hummed before slowly and carefully sinking the blade a few millimeters down, not enough to kill or ruin his voice, but certainly enough to hurt. Dean grit his teeth, a hiss finding its way through. The demon slowly cut a circle around Dean's neck, the blade about an inch above his adams apple. The female demon grinned wickedly, taking great pleasure in watching the hunter struggle and in pain. Finally, mercifully, the blade was removed, and Dean coughed, spattering blood onto the demon's shirt, _mostly _unintentionally. Swiping his hands over his shirt in disgust, the demon sighed and cleaned the blade on Dean's pants again.

"Repeat after me, hunter: Cas I need help." His voice was, Dean decided, pleasant in a sickly way, like a nanny discouraging a small child from scribbling on the walls, almost sardonic. And this _really_ pissed the hunter off.

"Never, you black-eyed son of a bitch," he snarled, spitting again at his feet, the best he could with his throat being held. The demon snarled, shoving the female demon roughly out of the way and tightly wrapping his own fingers around the hunter's throat. He placed his thumbs firmly over his windpipe and _pressed_, slowly stopping the air from reaching his lungs.

Dean gasped, desperately trying to draw in a breath to stop the slow burning in his chest. After a while he saw black dots float across his vision, his lungs feeling like they were going to burst, like flames were hungrily licking their way up his ribs. Finally, when he thought he couldn't survive another minute without a breath of air the demon released him, stepping back and wiping the sweat and blood off of his fingers. Dean gulped air frantically, desperately trying to allow air to soothe his lungs. After a few moments his vision returned to normal, his lungs only simmered instead of boiled, and his throat only ached. Coughing, he glared at the demon through partially lidded eyes, exhaustion clearly evident on his face.

"Ready to talk yet?" Snarled the demon, eyes flashing with impatience, "Because I am getting real sick of your shit. One way or another you will talk, so just do it now and save yourself trouble!" Dean coughed again, his lungs flaring with pain. He groaned low in his throat, ignoring the pain it brought before looking up, eyes defeated.

"Fine, sure, whatever," he croaked, fingers flicking slightly. The demon gave a triumphant grin, wringing his own fingers in excitement.

"Good, very good. You've come to your senses. Repeat after me, if you will: Cas, get down here, I need your help! And please do try to make it convincing," the man smiled, stepping back and pulling an angel blade from another holster hidden as a pocket on the side of his pants. Dean gave the blade a wary, fearful look before nodding slowly, feeling blood run down his throat.

"Cas, bud, I need help. Get down here, please." his voice cracked involuntarily due to the harsh treatment he had gotten earlier, and it was little over a whisper. However, the two demons were all but trembling with eagerness, fingers twitching to bring their boss the angel he had looked for for so long. Even Dean felt slightly uneasy, desperately hoping Castiel would follow his previous command and stay where he was. After a few minutes of nothing happening, Dean gave the smallest of triumphant smiles, his chin wilting to his chest as he grew too tired to hold it up.

Looking at each other in confusion and anger, the male demon spun on his heels and stalked up to Dean, grabbing him by his throat and shoving his head up.

"Where is the angel?" he snarled, and although the question was phrased the same, it meant something different then the previous times it was asked. Dean shrugged, his shoulders rolling slightly before suddenly stopping as the movement pulled on almost all his wounds at once. He let them drop before answering.

"I already told you, I don't know. Sometimes he doesn't come when I call. He must be busy." the demon looked about ready to explode with denied expectations. He removed his hand before swiftly connecting it with Dean's skull again.

"That's for the condescending tone. Watch it." he snarled, turning and pacing back and forth, like a lion in a cage. "Call him again," he demanded, clapping his hands briskly to capture Dean's slightly wandering attention. The hunter looked at him with exasperation, frowning.

"If he didn't show up the first time, he's not going to show up now!" he snapped, his tone lacking the normal degree of acid it normally held when he spoke with the evilly supernatural.

"Just do it," the demon growled, narrowing his eyes dangerously, "and put a bit of desperation into! I'll help you make it convincing," he snapped, grabbing the knife he had before, the thin curved one, and sank the tip into the skin in the middle of Dean's side.

"Start," he snapped, his tone devoid of all the previous fake pleasantry, and it almost made it worse. Then he sank in the knife and slowly began to cut down Dean's skin.

Dean screamed but did what they said, his voice pained and an octave or two higher than normal as he fought to keep his screeching under control.

"Castiel, please, I need your -" he stopped to scream in agony as the knife struck his rib slightly, "help. Please!" he yelped, and the demon removed the knife, watching impassively as the blood poured from the man. He quickly grabbed the hilt of the angel blade, but they were greeted with no sound of angel wings beating the air, so he replaced it again.

By now, the blood loss from the numerous knife wounds was causing Dean to become relatively unresponsive, making it difficult for him to properly concentrate on a hushed conversation between the two demons as his head lolled. It was only when they walked up to him, knife at the ready, that he managed to concentrate, fearing that they were going to make him do something else. However, to his immense surprise, they cut and unlocked his binds and stepped back.

"Well, this obviously didn't work as we would have liked," the male demon hummed, his fake voice back in place. Dean blinked sluggishly in surprise, rubbing his sore wrists absent-mindedly.

"We only released you because you're too weak to do anything anyway, and it is clear the angel doesn't care enough about you as we previously thought to come to your rescue. Within minutes, maybe an hour if you're lucky, you'll be dead anyways. Goodbye, Dean Winchester. We'll enjoy seeing you in Hell." he grinned, and with that, he did a small mock bow and spun, walking to the garage-like door and walking through. The woman gave him a sneer before doing the same. They shut the warehouse door carefully, and soon Dean heard the sound of a car pulling out.

He staggered to his feet with a moan, nearly screaming aloud again as all of the hastily created scabs his body had created cracked and split open. Blood completely surrounded his chair, and he was mildly surprised he hadn't passed out yet. Even as he thought it, a slowly moving ring of darkness began to creep into his vision. He shrugged off his torn shirt slowly, ripping it with his knife that had been thrown to the floor in the initial fight that got him tied up in the first place. He tied it tightly against his wounds, ripping up part of his pants as well. Then he grabbed his jacket, which had also been sprawled across the floor, and gingerly shrugged it on, effectively hiding most of the blood and the severity of his wounds. He pulled up the collar as far as it'd go and hid the wound on his throat. He staggered slowly to the doorway, managed to slide it up enough to get under it, and all but crawled to the patch of dead grass that lay near the edge of the dreary cement building. Once he was safely out of the angel-proofing range, he leaned against the small tree in the grass and moaned, closing his eyes and looking up at the sky a moment before slowly sliding to his feet.

"Cas, it's okay to listen to me now, I promise. I'm out of the angel-proofing. Get your feathery ass down here," he grunted, eyes fluttering as he fought for conciousness. The sound of wings swiftly greeted his ears as he looked up, seeing Castiel looking at him, worry etched all over his features.

"Hello, Dean," he rumbled, taking a step forward. Dean swayed slightly in place, holding out an arm to hold onto the tree for support.

"Are you alright, Dean?" The angel asked, and Dean nodded a slow affirmative.

"Yeah, I'm fine Cas," he mumbled as Cas's eyes raked over him, looking for injury. It lingered on the blood that stained his pants before slowly lifting to look at his face, flaring with uncommon anger. "I just need to get home to Sammy. M'sure he's worried," he said, looking up at the sky. He figured he had been gone for around 5 hours. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"Just let me heal you first," Cas argued, and Dean nodded, waving a hand weakly in an affirmative. Before he could change his mind, the angel reached a hand forward, placing his fingertips on Dean's forehead, gently easing a bit of his grace into the hunter. The bruising and split lip instantly disappeared, but Dean could tell the rest of the stab marks were still there; he could feel them bleeding and the agony they radiated. Cas stepped back a few steps, examining Dean carefully. He still looked much too weak for the wounds he could see, but his grace was supposed to have completely healed any injuries. He cocked his head in his signature confused manner, but Dean waved a hand at him tiredly.

"Just take me home, Cas," he muttered, sounding nothing like himself. Cas looked uncertain, his eyes squinting slightly. It was then, when he studied Dean closely again, that he noticed the crimson that began to seep through the collar of his jacket, and the stomach of his shirt. Once they initially began to show, the patches of blood quickly increased in size, and panic flashed through Cas. He didn't understand what was going on, Dean should have been healed. Dean looked down blearily, his fingers probing the areas gingerly and he winced, taking his hands away covered in blood.

"Still bleeding," he mused, incapable of producing the proper response to the problem due to the slow haziness creeping into his thoughts.

"Dean, what happened. Why aren't you healing like you're supposed to?" Cas said in a commanding, clipped tone, intent on forcing the man to answer him. He had taken a single step forward before Dean swayed violently again and collapsed, his body crumpling to the ground as his knees buckled underneath him. His vision swam, and he barely felt Cas lifting him up and calling his name before he blacked out.

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**A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger, I just couldn't resist; it was also such a nice place to end, don't you think? Please review, I'd greatly appreciate it! Also, if you could answer the question I asked at the beginning of the story, I would so very much appreciate it! **


	3. The Fallout

**Sorry for this being later than it was before. It's been done, but I went camping and my internet freaked out and I wasn't able to post it. I'm trying to get the fourth chapter done as soon as possible.**

Also, regarding when I'll be posting: I'll try for once a week or so, but it may take longer if I can't get a chapter done, or shorter if I really want to put up a chapter. It may be a bit of a chaotic schedule.

**I'd like to thank MoonlitIvy, Juliane24, Dean's Girl 2010, and the guest Ash for reviewing! Sorry I forgot to mention some of you last chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural**

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_**Chapter 3: The Fallout**_

Dean awoke to the sound of humming. It was low, gentle, and beautiful, playing out a wordless song that was clearly known well. It ineffectively covered the sounds of a muffled argument, and was only just loud enough to be heard over the loud, insistent beeping of a nearby machine.

His other senses weren't responsive, the lazy tendrils of unawareness still wrapped tightly throughout his body. Instead, he just layed there silently and switched his focus from the music to the argument, ears straining to pick up the muted words.

"-Can't stay..."

"Needs- good for-"

"Not-...unhealthy," Unable to hear any more than small snippets of the conversation, he let his concentration fall again, settling back into the easy thrall of the music. Next to return was his memories. They flooded his mind with a flash, spilling to every corner of his brain. He felt panic rip through him, the beeping he heard earlier speeding up considerably. However, recognizing the sound finally, he relaxed slowly, his sluggish brain finally deciding he was in a hospital. The gentle hum never ceased once, and so Dean figured frantic flashes of panic must have been common while he was asleep.

Next to come was his sense of smell. Almost immediately came the overpowering scent of sanitizing chemicals that made his nose burn and his stomach churn. However, the assaulting scent of the chemical further calmed him; definitely a hospital. Other than this, there was nothing else terribly remarkable that reached his nose. A hospital was a hospital, after all.

Next came sight. He never actually opened his eyes; he wanted to be completely aware, shaken off the last of the fogginess before he did that. No, he saw the small movements behind his eyelids that moved with the light, and from that ultimately decided that he had reclaimed his sight. Not that he wasn't tempted, of course, to open his eyes. In fact, his hunter instincts were screaming it. But another part of those instincts told him it'd be best to lie low until he was ready to get up swinging if that's what was necessary. So instead he let his eyes be still, continuing to listen intently to the unbreaking song beside him.

Finally, _finally _came feeling as the last of his unconsciousness slipped away, leaving behind an awareness of his own body. He felt a slightly chilled, gentle hand tightly wrapped in his own, probably belonging to the one who was singing. He felt the rough, scratchy hospital sheets draped carefully over his body that felt as if it was covered in a hospital gown. He almost groaned; a hospital gown, really? Almost immediately overwhelming all of this, however, was the agony. He felt it slowly begin to pulsate in burn in his throat, his side, his stomach, his chest. It tore through his nerves like wildfire, sending tendrils in places it really didn't belong, like his head and his fingertips.

With a gasp of pain his eyes were open and wide, the bright light of the room in contrast to the comforting dark of his eyelids made his head spin. Almost immediately, the humming stopped with a startled cracking noise.

"Dean?" a deep voice graveled out next to him, sounding so utterly defeated Dean almost had the urge to cry. Almost. He was a tough hunter, after all. Turning his head slowly - and hissing at the pain it brought - Dean saw the wide, vibrant blue eyes of Castiel looking back at him. After a moment's thought on how exactly he would go about speaking again, he managed to send the proper mix of vibrations over his vocal chords.

"Cas?" he groaned, and instantly regretted it as pain ripped down his throat, starting from where he had been cut and expanding outwards. Definitely not a good idea. He saw Cas flinch, guilt flooding into his gaze.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, eyes wide, fingers gently releasing Dean's hand before awkwardly curling around themselves and settling in his lap. "It's all my fault."

Dean felt a small thread of anger wrap around him, and he gave Cas his best exhausted glare.

"Not your fault," he mumbled, wincing again as he spoke. Castiel flinched again, one of his hands digging almost painfully into his other palm. He opened his mouth to say something, eyes glittering with sadness, but was interrupted rather abruptly by Sam sweeping into the room with an elderly doctor following, a disgruntled frown smeared across his face.

Sam stopped dead in shock when he saw Dean's green eyes looking at him, and his mouth flopped in shock. The doctor reacted similarly, his brow furrowing in amazement.

"Dean!" Sam gasped, breaking his trance and rushing over, carefully giving his brother a hasty hug before backing away. "How are you man?" he gaped, and Dean winced slightly, his eyes half-closing.

"I feel like shit, Sammy." Dean croaked, wincing as he spoke, trying his best to ignore Castiel's flinch. "How long have I been out?" Sam looked uncomfortable, looking at the doctor who stepped forward, grabbing a clipboard that had been tucked under his arm.

"You've been "out", as you put it, for about a week and a half," the man said, and Dean's eyes flashed open in shock. However, the doctor wasn't quite done. "We completely took away the pain medication to get you to wake up; you were in a rather worrisome coma. However, that was a day or two ago, so I'm curious, what made you wake up. If you remember that is." he grabbed a pen off of the top of the clipboard and clicked it sharply with his thumb, his hand poised to write a few scribbled notes. Dean contemplated the question a moment, pausing briefly to wait for a new wave of fire-hot agony to complete its path through him.

"Well, Castiel's humming," he said slowly, frowning. He looked up at the doctor, suddenly scowling. "And if you wouldn't mind giving me my damn pain meds so I can talk without it feeling like a wolf was tearing out my throat, that would great," he snapped. He noticed Sam giving the doctor a smirk of triumph, and a frustrated frown flicking across his features before he composed himself.

"Yes, of course. The nurse will be here shortly to administer the medication. Get some rest," he shot a glare at Cas and Sam before spinning on his heel and stalking off. Dean looked at him in confusion before raising a wary brow at Sam. His brother grinned slightly nervously, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck with a small laugh.

"The doctor was trying to force Cas to leave," he motioned to the silent angel who just blinked forlornly at Dean, "as he hasn't left your side since your...accident. I told him he wouldn't be able to make Cas leave, and that he was good for you, and we had a bit of an argument. Needless to say," a triumphant smirk slid over Sam's face, "I was right." He turned to Castiel curiously.

"What were you humming to him?" Sam asked, sitting carefully on the edge of Dean's hospital bed to avoid jarring his wounds. Castiel looked startled to be addressed directly by the younger Winchester, and took a moment to answer.

"A hymn I knew well up in Heaven and would sing with my brothers and sisters." His voice was hoarser than normal but was carefully devoid of the previous sorrow Dean had heard in it. They were interrupted by a young woman, around 24, walking in with a syringe in her hands. She was tall with bright blonde curls cascading down her head and over her shoulders. She was also noticeably well endowed in the chest department, a fact Dean quickly picked up on.

Quickly flicking the cap off the syringe into a little biomedical case, she smiled at Dean warmly. "Hello Dean, I'm Debby. I'm your nurse during your stay here in the hospital." The hunter smirked slightly, his eyelids lowering a fraction.

"Hello Debby," he grinned, his voice slightly scratchier than normal do to the pain pouring down his throat. He noticed Cas stiffen ever so slightly beside him, but decided it would be best to ignore him. He had enough on his plate at the moment, thank you. Debby only smiled like she was used to the mostly unwanted male attention.

"It's time for your pain meds," she said in a chipper tone, grabbing his IV and carefully injecting the syringe's contents into it. He felt a cold tingle shoot its way up his arm, almost immediately feeling a numbing effect on the pain. He gave Debby a grateful smile as she told them to call for her if they needed anything and left. Almost immediately once she was gone, Castiel stood slowly.

"Now that you're awake, I believe it would be best if I left," he said in his usual monotone voice. "I am useless to you; I cannot heal you or take away your pain." Guilt laced his words as he spoke again, and Dean frowned, reaching out a hand and snagging the angel by the wrist, the movement catching them both by surprise.

"Why can't you heal me?" he asked, his voice curious and tired but not blaming the angel in the slightest. Cas simply looked uncomfortable, carefully easing his arm out of Dean's weak-fingered grip.

"The demons must have carved special sigils into the blade they used. It makes it so anything caused by the blade I cannot fix, including pain or the incisions or the wounds themselves." he made a discouraged noise somewhere at the bottom of his throat. "They even had to do a blood transfusion; you lost so much. Your soul- it was impure for a length of time. It was unnerving." he said, frowning slowly and dejectedly.

"My soul?" Dean asked in confusion. How would a _blood transfusion_ mess with his soul? Castiel looked uncertain as he tried to scrape together an explanation that made sense. "Every human's body holds their soul. In the process, their soul leaks, if you will, into all the parts of a body, including the blood. When humans donate blood, the leftover... soul matter stays inside. When they gave the blood to you, this soul matter tried to convert the residing soul into itself while your soul did the same function. Your soul won, which is normally what happens. But it made the soul impure while the other tried to absorb it." Dean looked blankly at the angel before giving a very small nod that he instantly regretted. Sam, on the other hand, looked much more interested then he should. Dean rolled his eyes; his brother certainly was a nerd.

"It wasn't your fault," Dean said again changing the topic and narrowing his eyes at Castiel. He stiffened, his eyes flashing with momentary anger.

"How can you say it wasn't my fault, Dean?" he growled. "If I would have stayed away from you and your brother like I was supposed to, you wouldn't have nearly lost your life."

"Cas-" Dean started, but the angel had already spread his wings and disappeared.

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**A/N: Please review if you have the time! I love hearing your opinions on the story. Also, if there is anything you might want me to touch on in this story, tell me and I'll see if I can fit it into the story somewhere. **


	4. Regrets

**A/N: I am so so sorry for how long this took to get updated. I got slightly busy as of late, and I get really nasty migraines which make it hard to concentrate sometimes, so that is kind of an explanation, I suppose. I will try my hardest to get this updated more often. ALSO, this chapter ends awkwardly and is shorter than the others because I couldn't figure out how I wanted to end it so I just kind of...did, and I wanted to get it out to you guys. Sorry again /3**

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**Chapter 4: Regrets**

Castiel unfurled his wings once and disappeared before Dean could finish his sentence. One flick of his left wing sent him halfway across the continent, and a flick of his right landed him over to Amazon Rain forest. Folding his ebony wings tightly to his body, he dove to the ground, flaring them at the last moment to slow his descent into a landing as gentle as landing after a jump.

He kept his wings partially spread as he walked slowly over to a small rocky outcropping, settling on the topmost rock with a sigh and looking at his surroundings. To his right was a small but beautiful waterfall, the water tumbling down smooth gray stones and creating a spray of rainbow color almost every moment. Beneath there was a pool that was as clear as crystal, the bottom stones smoothed from erosion and a large spectrum of colors. The waterfall was located in a rare meadow, surrounded by a huge canopy of rain forest trees and vegetation, forming a near perfect circle filled with lush grasses and a few small sprigs of flowers or fern-like plants.

Castiel spread his right wing slowly until it was at the edge of the waterfall, letting the misty spray cover it momentarily before dipping it under the water, trying to clear his thoughts. He had found this place many human years ago after a particularly bad disagreement in his garrison. It was undiscovered by humans and wasn't tainted by pollution, still a perfect place created by his father. He had come here ever since when he needed to think or get away from thinking, as the serene environment and the animals were always entirely calming and allowed him to slip into a sort of trance for hours on end.

This time, however, it wasn't working. His mind was thrumming with guilt and regret and self-loathing, as well as a tiny spark of anger at Dean. The more he tried to wipe his mind clear, the more his thoughts clamored and shrieked for his attention. With another sigh he slipped into his mind to sort out the thoughts that screamed for his attention so he could finally escape from them for at least a moment.

He knew his anger at Dean stemmed from his own self-loathing; he couldn't understand why the Hunter had decided that his situation - his pain and wounds and near loss of life - WASN'T Castiel's fault. He had only gotten hurt because the demons wanted the angel. If Castiel had stayed out of the Winchester's life, they wouldn't have had to deal with any of this. Which was where the guilt, regret, and loathing came in. He felt guilty, extraordinarily guilty that he wasn't capable of protecting Dean, his charge and friend, from something as simple as demons. He was regretting his decision to listen to Dean's command, no matter how logical. And he completely, utterly _loathed _himself. He was too weak, to cowardly to give up his friendship with either of the two Winchesters, even threatening his place within Heaven to stay with the two hunters. He couldn't possibly stay away from them because they were his friends, no matter what he tried to convince himself otherwise.

He cradled his face in his hands, his fingers curling through his hair and tightening painfully. He let out a particularly bitter snarl. Thinking about things had only made the emotions he wasn't supposed to have anyway multiply tenfold, filling him with pain. He growled again, willing himself to be able to drop it for now at least, get a moment of peace before he decided to deal with his issues, but he couldn't. He tugged sharply on his hair once before dropping his hands and standing, brushing dirt off of his trench coat briskly before spreading his wings again.

He had been childish, he decided, when he had left so suddenly. He'd go back and check on Dean, apologize, and start making plans on the tiny thought that had quietly made itself known in the back of his mind. With that decided, he spread flapped his wings, nodded and disappeared.

Sam looked at Dean with narrowed eyes, making Dean flinch slightly and groan, despite the pain medication. The only thing it had succeeded in doing was making his mind even fuzzier then it had been.

"Did you _really _have to do that in front of Cas?" he snapped, sliding off of the bed and standing. Dean looked confused, his brow furrowing in thought as he tried to pull up whatever his brother was referring to. Sam sighed and swiped a hand across his face tiredly. "_Flirt, _Dean. It obviously made him uncomfortable. I don't think he really likes the majority of human interaction," it was a partial lie, and Sam knew it as soon as he had said it, but he wasn't going to bring anything up, especially now. Dean's eyes grew wide with understanding and he cursed under his breath, and Sam nodded slowly with a slightly irritated expression before he pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eyes, rubbing them blearily.

Dean narrowed his eyes at his little brother, taking note for the first time of the dark smudges under each eye, the exhaustion in his expression, his slightly slumped form. He snapped his fingers at his brother and pointed at the door, his expression as stern as he could make it when he felt like he was floating.

"Go get some sleep, Sam. You obviously haven't in a while, and you look like shit." Sam look disgruntled but he laughed, rubbing his face with the heel of his hand.

"I've been worried about your ungrateful hide," he yawned, blinking, and Dean grinned, waving a hand at the door - and regretting it. He bit back a wince and narrowed his eyes. "Go, I'll be fine." With a nod and another yawn, Sam turned and walked out of the door, closing it behind him. After he had left, Dean sat back, exhausted despite not actually doing anything. He dozed off and on for around and hour until the nurse came back.

"How're we doing Dean?" she asked politely, and Dean looked at her languidly.

"Not much better then before," he mumbled, his words slightly slurred from sleep. The woman clucked slightly as she checked his IV and the other numerous machines attached to him before nodding. "I'll have the doctor up your pain medicine dosage," she informed him, patting him very gingerly on the shoulder. He made a humming noise of approval, both unwilling and unable to keep himself from slipping back into a doze.

He was sure, at that moment, he heard the unmistakable sound of angel wings, but when he opened his wings there was nothing.

He waited until the nurse had left to get pain medication before calling out a soft, tentative, "Cas?"

But there was no response.

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_**A/n: I hope you guys liked it! As always, I adore reviews and feedback! If you want to see something in this fic, let me know and I'll try to include it around the main plot.**_


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